


The Omega Tattoo

by MsCaptainWinchester (rons_pigwidgeon)



Series: Supernatural ABO Bingo 2018 [1]
Category: Supernatural
Genre: Alpha Castiel (Supernatural), Alpha/Beta/Omega Dynamics, Alternate Universe - Tattoo Parlor, John Winchester's A+ Parenting, M/M, Mechanic Dean Winchester, Omega Dean, Sexism, Tattoo Artist Castiel, Tattooed Castiel, Tattoos
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2018-08-22
Updated: 2018-08-22
Packaged: 2019-07-01 03:41:38
Rating: General Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 4,236
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/15765876
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/rons_pigwidgeon/pseuds/MsCaptainWinchester
Summary: Dean decides to get a tattoo to celebrate accepting his omega designation. Castiel is the perfect tattoo artist to do it. If he happens to also be the most attractive alpha Dean's ever met, it's not like Dean's going to complain about it.





	The Omega Tattoo

**Author's Note:**

> Originally written for my ABO Bingo card for the first round of 2018, but didn't get it done on time, obviously.

Dean's heart is hummingbird fast as he steps onto the sidewalk in front of the shop. He had been bouncing ideas around in his head about getting a tattoo for months before Pam walked into the bar with a fresh set of ink to cover up her stupid "Jesse 4 Ever" tramp stamp. He'd never loved the original, but the deep red roses she'd gotten to replace it were lush and petal-soft and shaded to look so real that Dean had had to resist the urge to touch just to check that they weren't when she'd shown them to him. He knew instantly that he wanted the artist that had created such beautiful art to make more for him.  

But now standing in front of the shop with the plain white business card stamped with a pale blue logo in his hand, Dean’s nerves are proving to be a problem. 

It isn’t the exterior of the shop that’s stopping him, with its electric blue Celestial Tattoo sign and the large-scale paintings of angels' wings in the windows. It’s a skinny building wedged in a row of other skinny buildings with balconies above that make Dean think there are apartments upstairs. It‘s a shop like any other, not intimidating in the least. It isn’t even indecision staying his feet from moving forward. Dean has an idea of what he wants, and where. He’s been thinking about it for months, almost a year. 

But taking that extra step inside, that makes it real. Permanent. He won’t be able to go back to hiding behind blockers and heat suppressants anymore if the knowledge of what he is printed on his arm for anyone to see. 

The front door opens and a dark-haired man with more body art than unmarked skin stands in the doorway, shirt tattered and loose to show off his ink. He pulls a cigarette out of his pocket and lights it, glancing up at Dean through his long fringe as he brings the cigarette to his lips. 

“Hey,” he say. His voice is gruff, with an underlining growl that curls down Dean’s spine. Alpha, Dean can smell the burnt electricity of his scent under the cigarette smoke even if he hadn’t heard it in his voice. The man steps further outside, allowing the door of the shop to close behind him. His black leather motorcycle boots crunch against the sidewalk as he slips further out of the alcove to lean against the front window.

Dean nods in acknowledgement instead of talking, since his voice isn’t ready to work yet. He clenches the business card between blanched fingers and tries to keep his calm before the nerves take over. He thinks he recognizes the man’s face from the shop website: Castiel Novak, owner and head tattooist. The man Dean came here to see. At least, he hopes so. The website mentioned he had an identical twin.

“You looking for a tattoo?” possibly-Castiel asks, raising his face towards the sky to blow the smoke up and away from Dean, exposing the long line of his neck decorated with a black and white geometric pattern that was difficult to look away from. 

The pictures online had been beautiful, both of his tattoos and of the man behind the art. Piercing eyes and a strong jaw line with a cleft chin. Dean had assumed that no one could look that good in real life, but clearly he was wrong. That little move with the smoke was enough to have Dean’s heartrate ratchet up to jogging levels.

“I… yeah, I was hoping to uh… you’re Castiel Novak, right?” he asks, fingers twitching at the business card. 

Castiel looks him up and down with an easy smile, his blue eyes glittering with amusement. “Browsed the website, did you? Let’s go inside and you can tell me what you’re looking for.” He stubs out the cigarette on the brick next to the doorway, and drops it into a little receptacle just in front of the shop. He opens the door wide and waits for Dean to enter ahead of him, making Dean’s decision to go inside for him. 

Dean steps inside, nervous and a little overwhelmed by the scent of Castiel as he gets close. He’s an alpha, definitely—not something Dean’s usually into—but there’s something sharp and electric in his scent that makes Dean want to press up against him and rub all over him for a while. Dean suppresses the urge.

Inside the shop is white-washed and clean-smelling, with three stations set up in a neat line. A dark-haired woman about Castiel’s age in a crop top and tight leather pants works on what looks from his angle like a huge piece on the thigh of a pretty girl who barely looks old enough to be in the shop without a parent. At the station next to them sits an older man with long hair tied up in a bun on top of his head, working on a back piece for a short, beefy guy. The last station is empty at the moment, but clean and sterile-looking, like it’s just waiting for a client. Dean assumes that one is Castiel’s. 

Castiel follows Dean in and walks over to a free-standing desk that looks to serve as both reception and consultation. “So, what can I do for you…” He trails off with a raised eyebrow, waiting for Dean to introduce himself.

“Dean,” Dean supplies, trying to ignore the blush warming his cheeks. “Dean Winchester. You uh… you did a cover up for a friend of mine, Pam Barnes?” He fiddles with the card again, rubbing at the edges with calloused fingertips even though they’ve already gone soft and frayed by now.

Castiel squints as if in thought before he beams, and Dean is not prepared for how endearingly gummy and wide it is. “Ah, yes. I was sad to hear that Jesse was not, in fact, forever.”

Dean chuckles, nodding. “Yeah. The roses you did for her were awesome. I knew I wanted you to do something for me as soon as I saw them.”

“Thank you. I was quite pleased with how they came out. You should know that I don’t like to repeat tattoos on more than one person.”

Dean shakes his head no. The roses were beautiful, but they aren’t what he’s after. He pulls out the picture of the Impala he printed out at the library from his jacket pocket and unfolds it. “I don’t want the same tattoo as Pam. I uh…” He falters, fingers trembling as he smooths out the creases in the paper. Saying what he wants puts the same nervous, vaguely sick feeling in his stomach as he’d felt standing at the shop door. “I was hoping to get this with an omega symbol sort of… laid over it?”

Castiel takes the paper from him and looks at the picture, the best one Dean could find in his phone of the car. Castiel whistled when he sees it. “Speaking of gorgeous. Is she yours?”

“No, uh… she was supposed to be when I turned eighteen, but then I uh… when I presented omega, my dad wasn’t… happy. He thinks the car should only go to another alpha.” Dean looks at his hands, picking at the skin around his nails to try to keep his nerves down. His heart still clenches every time he tells someone he’s an omega, even a year after he stopped wearing blockers. He takes a deep breath, pushing the self-doubt away. There’s nothing wrong with being an omega. That’s why he’s here, after all. 

“I’ve spent the last six years pretending to be a beta to make my dad happy, but it’s never gonna happen, and I got tired of pretending that it would. I’m proud of my designation. I’m proud of what my body can do, and I don’t want to hide it anymore.” He looks up to find Castiel watching him with an unreadable expression that makes his heart speed up again. 

“So you want to get a tattoo to show your pride? And maybe keep a piece of your favorite car with you?” Castiel asks in a soft voice that soothes some of the wiggling nerves inside him. He nods. Castiel looks back down at the picture with a tiny smile and eyes that shine with a kind of excitement. “I think I should be able to help you with that. Where were you thinking of putting this?”

Dean lifts up his right arm and rubs over the sleeve covering the inside of his forearm where he was thinking of putting it. “Here. I want to be able to look at it without having to take anything off or get a mirror.”

Castiel nods. “I can work with that. Why don’t you take a seat, and I can mock something up to give you an idea, and we can go from there?”

Dean has nothing else to do, so he finds a seat along the bench lining the front windows and pulls his phone out to check his email while he waits. He doesn’t catch the way Castiel watches him before going into the back to his drafting desk. 

-

Dean’s gotten through four levels of the Marvel version of Candy Crush he’s grown addicted to when Castiel comes back to the front with a sketchbook in hand. There’s a pencil behind his ear, holding the wispy part of his bangs out of his face. He bypasses the desk and takes a seat next to Dean on the bench, much closer than Dean normally lets alphas get. 

“I took a few liberties with coloring, and added a few flowers, since you liked my roses so much. This isn’t a final draft, so if you don’t like something, don’t hesitate to tell me. This is going on your body. You get final say.” He hands the sketchbook to Dean, open to a fresh page with a sketch of the Impala and a loopy omega symbol overlaid on top of. 

The sketch is rough, but it still takes Dean’s breath away. It’s a million times better than what he had floating in his head. The detail of the Impala is perfect, and the font of the omega symbol is just loopy enough to match the delicate stereotype of omegas without being too feminine. Castiel has colored it in green for some reason, but Dean sort of likes it now that it's been put in front of him. There are flowers nestled next to the symbol where it touches the roof of the Impala and more on the opposite bumper acting as a sort of frame. Each of the flowers is different, and he doesn't know enough about them in general to know which is which, but they're a nice touch.

"I picked green because it matches your eyes, and I think I got the shade right." Cas squints at him before nodding, his smile growing as he points to each flower. He must sense that Dean loves it, because he doesn't look nervous anymore. "The amaryllis and the sunflower are both meant to represent pride, and the protea represents courage and daring. Transformation, too, depending on who you're talking to. The purple flower is Honesty. It means—"

"Honesty?" Dean asks, letting the grin take over his face. Castiel nods, his smile matching Dean's. "This is amazing, Cas. Way better than anything I had in my head."

Something soft overtakes Cas' smile, and he takes the sketchbook back with a pleased look. "Thank you. Should we set up an appointment, and I can give you an idea of cost?"

"Yeah, please. This is awesome."

They get up together and go over to the little counter to talk things over. Dean makes an appointment for the weekend and takes a picture of the sketch on his phone. He's buzzing all the way home. He sends the pic to Charlie and Sam and gets back encouragement from Sam and fifteen exclamation marks from Charlie. It's a good afternoon.

-

Cas' bangs were dyed a deep fuchsia the next time Dean comes in for his appointment, and it shouldn't be as attractive as it is on him. He's leaning over a tiny redhead doing something on her calf when Dean walks in, but he looks up from his work with a wide smile just for Dean. "I'm just finishing up. Take a seat over there, and I'll be ready in about 15 minutes."

Dean nods and takes a seat on the bench and pulls out his phone to text Charlie. She's in California for some nerd thing, or she’d be with him now. She’s been sending him encouraging texts all morning, telling him how proud of him she is and sending the occasional picture of a cosplay she thinks he might like. He spends the time waiting chatting with her and playing his Marvel game, his leg jiggling up and down uncontrollably. 

He glances up when the redhead exclaims to see her standing at the giant floor-to-ceiling mirror, looking at the fresh tattoo running down the length of the back of her calf. She’s talking a mile a minute, grinning and using hand gestures. Cas takes it in stride, smiling and answering her, giving her care instructions. He wraps the fresh inch in plastic wrap and tapes it down and they spend a few minutes at the desk. Money exchanges hands, care instructions are handed over. The entire time, Dean is aware of Cas glancing at him every few seconds, a warm smile on his face. 

When the girl leaves, Cas comes over to him and holds his hand out towards the back of the shop and his station. “I’m glad to see you didn’t change your mind. Ready?” He’s wearing tight, ripped black jeans and a long-sleeved black shirt that’s so baggy it’s slid off one shoulder, revealing a black rose with an inkless outline of a symbol Dean half recognizes from astrology nonsense Jo sometimes tries to read to him at the shop inside it. Dean has a hard time looking away to meet Cas’ eyes. 

He stands and lets Cas lead him to his station, the chair still glistening from the disinfectant he’d used while the girl was admiring her new ink. Dean takes his seat and watches Cas get the needed supplies ready, his leg still jiggling. Butterflies swarm in his stomach, and not the good kind. “I had to talk myself down from cancelling three times. My best friend’s been sending me good luck texts all morning.”

“Well, I’m glad you came. I can already tell this tattoo is going to be a pleasure to work on. Here’s the final stencil. Can you show me where you want to place it again? I’ve made a couple stencils, so if you don’t like the placement the first time, we can wash it off and re-position.” He hands Dean a piece of tracing paper with a purple stencil of the sketch he’d shown Dean earlier in the week. This one has a lot more detail. Dean’s leg stops jiggling as soon as he looks at it.

“That’s... that’s perfect, Cas. I can’t believe how detailed you got the car.”

“I’m glad you like it,” Cas says, a hint of pride in his gravelly voice. He takes the stencil back and directs Dean to lay his arm down on the arm rest. "So how long have you been thinking about getting a tattoo?" Cas asks as he smooths the stencil out over Dean's forearm and dabs it with water. They'd talked a long time about placement and color choices, but now that the stencil papers is actually pressed to his skin, his nerves are starting to get the better of him. Once Cas starts the gun, there is no stopping. He isn't worried about the pain—his suppressants had caused terrible cramping for most of his adult life—but the permanence of the whole thing is starting to really panic him. 

"About six months now. It took a while to get comfortable with myself after I quit the suppressants and the blockers, but once I did, I couldn't stop thinking about a way to... celebrate, I guess? A tattoo made sense. No going back once it's there, you know?"

Cas nods, biting his lip in concentration as he carefully pulls the paper away to reveal a perfect purple outline of his design. "I went into tattooing because I enjoy art, and it was the way of expressing art that made the most sense to me, but I think I've stayed all these years because of the emotional impact tattooing can provide. A lot of people get tattoos on a whim, but most people get them to commemorate an event in their life that is important to them. I like being a part of that."

Dean watches him prepare the gun and bring it over to Dean's forearm. There are little bees trailing from his pinky finger up his right hand and wrapping around his wrist, forming a swarm up his arm. There are other things, too, symbols Dean doesn't recognize and text in a language he's never seen before. "Are any of your tattoos something you got on a whim?"

Cas glances up at him with humor as the buzz of the machine starts. "A few. If you take a couple deep breaths for me, I'll tell you all about them."

Dean isn't sure, but he thinks Cas might be flirting with him. It doesn't give him the same anxiety he usually gets with alphas. He takes the deep breaths. And then Cas starts telling him about his tattoos, and the pain is a lot more tolerable than he expected.

-

"I think I have a good idea of why you started doing the suppressants and the blockers, but what made you stop, if you don't mind my asking?" Cas asks. He's got the outline and most of the shading of the Impala done, and he's working on the green of the lettering when he glances up at Dean through his lashes. 

Dean is in a bit of a pain haze, but he's also gotten a lot more comfortable with Cas in the hour he's spent being stabbed repeatedly with a needle. Having someone in your personal space for an extended period of time will do that. "My dad, actually," he says, chuckling a little at the irony. Cas darts a look at him before focusing back on his work. 

"He likes to make comments about omegas staying home and needing an alpha to take care of us and all that bullshit that sexist assholes say. I've heard it my whole life, way before I ever presented. I thought when I started on the suppressants and the blockers he'd lay off, you know? I was presenting as a beta. No need to make comments about me being an omega. I was doing everything I could to  _not_  be an omega." Cas nods along, his focus on his work, but obviously listening closely.

"He didn't let up. Still made all the same comments. And when my younger brother presented as an alpha, it all got a million times worse. He compared everything we did. Sammy—my brother—he's going to school to be a bigshot lawyer, and my dad kept making all these comments about how I should find an alpha like Sam and settle down. Have some pups. Stop working at a garage and start keeping house. Doesn't matter that  _he's_  a mechanic, too. Doesn't matter that I do restorations worth hundreds of thousands of dollars. Doesn't matter that I've earned a pretty good reputation for my work. I'm not worth anything unless I get mated and do my duty." Dean can feel his blood pressure rise just thinking about the stupid shit his dad has said to him over the years. He takes a deep breath, clenching his left hand to try to ground himself. 

"Anyway, when Sammy graduated from his undergrad, Dad gave him the Impala as a graduation gift. Nevermind that I'm the oldest. Nevermind that Sam doesn't know the first thing about taking care of a car, let alone a classic like Baby. Nevermind that Sam didn't even want her, tried to get our dad to give her to me. Sam has to bring her to me for maintenance, for fuck's sake. None of that matters to our dad." Dean shakes his head, still disgusted with the whole thing. 

"Watching him hand those keys over to Sam at his graduation was a wake-up call. I knew I was never going to live up to his expectations. So I stopped trying. I threw the suppressants away that night. Showered off the blockers and threw them away, too. It took a lot of adjusting, but I'm really glad I did."

Cas smiles up at him as he wipes away smeared ink and blood with a clean cloth. "I'm glad you did, too. I've found that it's better to be happy with yourself first and worry about the opinions of others later."

"Definitely."

Cas works in quiet for a few minutes, shading in one of the flowers in quick, short strokes that are a little mesmerizing to watch. "So what was the hardest part about letting go of your beta self?" he asks.

"Dating, probably. When I stopped wearing the blockers, I started getting a lot more attention from alphas than I expected."

"It's not surprising. You're a very attractive man."

Dean can feel the blush warming his cheeks and averts his eyes to his burgeoning tattoo. "Thanks. It's a little weird having random alphas proposition you at the grocery store when you aren't used to it."

"Get a lot of pick-up lines in the cereal aisle?" Cas asks with a corner of his mouth quirked up.

"More than you'd think. And I'm not exactly... used to dating alphas. I've been doing my best to avoid them for most of my adult life."

"You don't strike me as the type to be sexist against a designation."

"I'm not. I uh... didn't want to prove my dad right, I guess?"

Cas nods as if this makes sense to him. "And are you still averse to... proving your father right?"

"I don't know. I haven't met any alphas I wanted to date. Until recently," he adds, because the way Cas looks at him through his lashes makes his heart beat a meringue in his chest.

"I'm glad to hear you're reconsidering your position." Cas’ voice is mild, but the look in his eyes is anything but. Dean feels his blush darken. 

He looks back down at the ink, surprised to see that it’s nearly done. They’re both quiet as Cas finishes the shading and wipes the excess ink and blood away to show Dean his work. Dean is shocked by how perfect it is, so much more amazing than what he expected to get. He doesn’t touch it because he knows he isn’t supposed to, but his fingers itch to caress the permanent mark on his skin. 

He glances up at Cas to find him watching Dean with an eager expression, the now-quiet machine now set off to the side and another clean rag in his hand. Clean-up and bandaging takes another few minutes, Cas patiently explaining the care instructions as he wraps plastic around the area and tapes it in place. 

Dean listens and nods along, but his mind is somewhere else entirely. It’s on the lingering looks and the warm words and the tight cut of Cas’ jeans hugging his thick thighs. Thighs Dean very much would like to ride. But coffee first. Maybe dinner.

Dean gathers up his courage as he pays for Cas’ services and signs the receipt on a tablet Cas holds out for him. When the screen flashes with a digital receipt sent to his email, he puts his card back in his wallet slowly, sneaking a look at Cas watching him with something akin to anticipation. Dean’s courage balloons out and he straightens up, tucking his wallet back in his pocket. He’s done this a hundred times before. Why should it be any different with an alpha?

“Would you maybe want to… get coffee sometime?”

Cas tilts his head to the side with a teasing smile. “I don’t know. I thought you didn’t date alphas.”

“I can make an exception.”

“Just one exception?”

Dean raises an eyebrow. “You want me to make more than one? There’s an alpha down the hall from me who’s been eyeing me. I could ask her out.”

Cas’ face darkens, and he shifts around to Dean’s side of the little counter with a shake of his head. “No, I don’t think that would work at all. I think I like being the only exception to your rule.” He twists his fingers in the loose hem of Dean’s Henley, sliding closer to him. 

Dean grins up at him, his heart no longer pounding with nerves. “So is that a yes?”

“That’s a fuck yes. How about now?”

Dean looks around at the rest of the shop to find they’re alone. And when had that happened? He hadn’t even noticed the other artists finishing work for the day. Dean nods, grinning back at Cas. “Now’s good.”

“Good,” Cas says, just before he kisses him.


End file.
